Lux in Tenebris Light in Darkness
by Shadow Rune
Summary: (updated March 4th) Set in a rain-slicked Britannia, this takes place approx. 2 yrs prior to the movie.
1. Default Chapter

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As ever the usual disclaimer blurb: Gladiator and its associated characters are the property /copyright of Universal/Dreamworks and nothing to do with me (sniff sniff) No infringement of copyright law has been intended.

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This is my first whack at a Gladiator work so my apologies go out to any purists I may inadvertently offend with truck-sized holes in the plot and character mangling - I figured the main thing to do was to have fun and enjoy writing the story, thus leaving the historical subtleties and pinpoint accuracy to the experts ... one of which I ain't *smiles*

So here goes...

Lux in Tenebris (Light in Darkness) 

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His body begged him for sleep.

They had ridden far these past nine days, slopping through mud in dark valleys and over snow and shale strewn higher ground in what had seemed like an endless trek into the unknown. Always heading into the gale's throat, always hungry, passing silent watchful villages and the occasional Roman outpost - a pale imitation of home in this far-flung wilderland. The trek had been arduous in the teeth of winter but it had come to fruition and the potentially harmful rebellion in frostbound western Britannia had been quickly and savagely quashed so that now he could turn his sights to the bigger battles ahead. Now they would again cross the sea and head towards Germania and one of the last great wills to resist the inexorable advance of Rome

This was the first proper camp they had made since the new moon and the long nights spent sheltering in the lee of a hanger or lain miserably alongside the endless road told heavily in the slope of his shoulders and the tension in his jaw. Silent but for the occasional soft creak of armour he walked slowly through the frost-sharpened mud to the horses, aware with every stride of the twinges in his muscles and a mounting ache in his bones together with the soon to become irresistible desire to close his smoke-stung eyes and rest. 

But first to the horses.

The well-trodden pathway ran ahead of him through the trees but he veered aside, instead following a sidetrack that snaked back before sloping down into a hollow clearing where the animals were kept. With an effort he pulled his shoulders erect as sentries and slaves alike snapped to attention at his approach, their breath clouding in the chill of late afternoon. Pale golden light slanted weakly through the darkening forest as the sun slipped behind the wooded hill and the fires which the company had lit brought the smell of resin and wood-smoke to his nostrils along with the appetising scent of baking loaves. Unconsciously he licked dry lips, his stomach contracting sharply at the warm aroma to remind him that he had still not broken his fast all day.

He glanced at the men as he passed, all were eager to meet his eye - each anxious and hoping for the merest flicker of contact from their commander. Had he ever been like that he wondered? Perhaps it was something you couldn't see in yourself, couldn't recognise. Surely there had been a time when he too had worn that expression, held such hunger in his heart? He smiled and nodded as he passed a small knot of men huddled about a fire - a telling reminder of a village passed three days ago where the welcome had not been effusive. The orange flames starkly illuminated their injuries, a gashed cheek, a torn chest, a twisted limb. The injured men blossomed briefly under his smile and as he moved on towards the hollow he felt the familiar twist of pain in his guts that had nothing to do with hunger or fatigue and deliberately he pushed the image of their faces from his mind ... they would die for him - it was in their eyes and sometimes their faith appalled him.

Ice crackled beneath his boots as he approached the horses. He had left word that the grey's leg be treated specifically as he had instructed - the horse had stumbled as it plunged a foot into a rabbit hole a day ago and as a result its left foreleg felt hot and swollen to the touch. He did not wish the horse to run lame, it was a good animal and more than that it had been with him for many faithful years and was deserving of all the care he could afford it. He reached up to touch the great pale head as it turned towards him and in the calm, liquid eyes saw his own face mirrored darkly back. The grey whickered softly as he caressed it and he smiled again for even that was not all, the horse was a link to who he was, a grounding root, a living memory of times that now seemed lost to him .The silver hide was warm beneath his fingers and for a second the past tugged fiercely at him, a sibilant echo of sights and sounds, the soughing of the wind across the moonlit wheat fields, the cloud shadows racing across the familiar landscape and the grey horse galloping, galloping - taking him home, its strong body bunching between his thighs as it carried him onwards into darkness, sweetness, rest.

Sleep. Gods how he needed to rest. Darkness rolled over him in a delicious wave but something was nudging insistently at his body again and again, tugging him from the edge of dreams and reminding him that it wasn't good to let his guard drop like this, even now. He opened his eyes and found his head resting heavily against the horse's shoulder, the wind was whipping its mane into his face and the soft nudging was the horse itself thrusting at him with its nose, urging him back to awareness. Gratefully, he stroked the rough mane and then dropping to a crouch ran his hands down the animal's leg, fingers probing for heat or swelling as the horse stood obedient under his touch, turning its head to snuff questingly at his neck with its velvet dark muzzle.

There was no swelling, no abnormal heat. Satisfied that the horse was warm, content and well fed, Maximus retraced his steps back towards the main body of the camp. As he crested the rise about the horses' sheltering hollow the mounting wind struck icily against his suddenly exposed face whipping up a flurry of powdered snow that stuck to his beard and refused to melt upon his shoulders. Despite the assorted skins that draped his body he shivered and found himself hurrying, suddenly eager for the peace and solitude of his own tent - warmth, a meal and then oblivion.

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The outer reaches of the camp were quiet. Most men who were not on watch were grouped close to the fires, quietly talking or eating their rations and he nodded to them as he passed without stopping as was his usual habit, instead sinking deeper into thought and the anticipation of a chance to dream. There was more life in the centre of the camp however, torches burned brighter and people wove around him about carrying food, wine and wood for the braziers. Snatches of raucous singing filtered through his reverie, someone was tugging at his arm and half-dazed with fatigue he allowed himself to be guided forwards. Before he knew it they had dragged him into one of the larger tents and he squinted in the sudden glare of many flaring torches, automatically murmuring thanks as a cup of wine was thrust into his hand. Voices called his name, loudly demanded his attention, hands clapped his aching shoulders, gripped his own palm in gestures of camaraderie and greed - all wanting favour, a word, a little piece of his time.

He blinked, trying to clear his vision. He had absolutely no idea who these people were and looked about for a familiar face - any familiar face. It dawned on Maximus that these men belonged to the hastily constructed supplementary division he had heard mention of - arriving in the early dawn of yesterday they had been sent up to join his forces by special order. He smiled privately to himself, these men - mostly the sons of high ranking officials - had been posted further north in Britannia and had apparently been living a little too much of the good life at their fathers' expense. Now it had been decided for them that it was time to cut their teeth on a real offensive.

Beneath dark brows his eyes flicked from face to face and his mouth set in a grim line watching the newcomers with distaste- eager young officers, braying to each other like mules, each greedy for his chance at glory, each more versed in politics than strategy or fighting, their strident voices competing with each other to cut above the general conversation and win an audience. He couldn't wait to get away. 

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He snapped back to full awareness as a sudden commotion flared outside the tent. The people about him laughed on, seeming neither to care or notice and he gratefully seized upon the noise as a chance to escape. Pushing through the heavy draperies he felt the cold air strike his face as again icy mud crunched under his feet and turned to the source of the noise, there were sounds of scuffling, muffled breathing and the occasional oath. Maximus sighed, knowing that the explanation was fairly likely to be drink - it was a well known fact that many of the younger men were unable to hold their measure and took it out upon their comrades or servants - but all the same this was _his_ camp and the last thing he wanted was a brawl getting out of hand.

By the light from a nearby fire he made out two tall figures, one of them struggling with a third, who's dress marked them as a slave. They did not see him as he stood silently in the shadows watching.

The man with the grip on the slave's arm grinned in the orange firelight, speaking to the still struggling figure, his voice arrogant and cold, "Come on then, we're waiting - call on your gods, goddesses ... men of the woods or whatever you call them. _Come on!_ Paint yourself blue you cursed little savage - make the wolves leap out of your eyes or-" he broke off to leer at his companion who paused in lifting a flask of wine to his lips to offer words of sarcastic encouragement,

"Whisk us off to the faerie realm?" he choked on his own wit, wine running down his cleft chin.

The first laughed with an ugly grating sound, "... and then why not turn yourself into an owl and pluck out my eyes - _ah yes_, I know you've always wanted to do that hah?"

More laughter.

"Curse me then - or better still tell me when I'll become the Prefect of Gaul"

The second man erupted into derisive hoots "Same thing!"

The slave made no reply but in a sudden struggle and flurry of movement Maximus saw a brief flash of white teeth seconds before they met in the main antagonist's wrist. He yowled in pain, striking out wildly and a random backhanded blow sent the slave staggering into the shadows of a nearby tent. His companion belched then yawned loudly, sounding suddenly bored and flinging away the empty wine vessel strode forward and snatched the fallen servant back upright. His hard voice cut across the sound of the fire's crackle, "Come on, we might as well have some _real _fun with this one. Take advantage of something fresh for a change, something with a bit of fire - I'm tired of those worn out camp whores and I know you are -".

"No. Not yet. There's time for that later." Rubbing his bitten hand, the first officer grabbed the slave by the shoulders and shook fiercely, "Come on, every one of you miserable scum has at least one good curse in them - and especially the fey ones like you, so come on slave, let's hear it-" his voice dropped to a hiss "or do you wish to bleed for me again?" 

He tightened his rough grip on the captive's neck, pulling it back and smiling as he drew forth a small dirk whose sharp point he teased along the taut throat. "As ever, you seem to need reminding that _I am your master and I will be obeyed_!" 

The slave - sensing an inevitable beating - jerked away from his grasp but quicker than Maximus' eye could follow the drunken officer snatched at the unguarded wrist and then slashed the silver blade down hard across the slave's forearm once, twice and a third time - yet still the requested curses failed to escape into the frigid air. With a frustrated snarl the Roman shook his head and nodded at his friend who's hands - as if in answer - locked firmly about the slave's shoulders and then turning back to his captive with a long malicious grin, the first delivered a series of sharp slaps across the face that smote the night air like the clap of a pigeon's wing.

The younger officer's bulk now blocked Maximus' view of the victim but the General felt that he'd witnessed enough - for whatever the slave had done to displease his master so, by now the punishment must surely be outweighing the crime. He stepped forward into the light, his shadow thrown dark behind him. His voice was soft and void of emotion keeping in check the undertone of displeasure that struggled for release, "Perhaps if you treated your servants with a little occasional kindness they might learn to respect you in return."

The first officer turned his head, recognising who dared to address him in such a manner and simultaneously realising that he was outranked. His flinty eyes met Maximus' shadowed stare and he swallowed hard. His companion also ceased struggling with the slave and they stood silent, two clean-shaven, hawk-faced and slender-built young men whose carriage and mien suggested good schooling and a rich upbringing together with an assumed natural arrogance that their whims and will would go unquestioned by others. 

The first spoke, there was a slight waver in the previously confident bray, "Sir, I know my slaves - this one would rather be beaten half to death's door than submit to my will but I assure you Sir, I will prevail - there is no respect here, no loyalty-" a shadow passed across the sharp features as his fingers touched the tender wrist, the bite marks curving vivid against dark bruises "... I ... I am within my rights, Sir."

"Do you really think so?"

Before the words were fully out the young man suddenly flushed with rage and whipping round, tore the slave from his companion's grasp, his voice was high and breaking as pride and fear struggled in his throat, "General, I ... I want no more of this slave ... she is cursed, she is fey, she brings only bad luck." He gulped before choking out the final sentence "Sir, if you are so concerned for her welfare then freely do I give her to you." He wrenched his arm hard as he spoke, flinging his captive stumbling across the mud only to be brought up short by the sudden smack as she collided with the older man .

Reflexively Maximus' hands snapped out and caught the slave by the wrists and as the young officer's words sank in, realised he had hold of a woman. She fought against his grip, sobbing words he couldn't catch and as their eyes locked he felt his head suddenly pound as though filled with dark beating wings. He gasped, blinking rapidly to clear his vision but before he could speak to her or even draw breath she had somehow pried her fingers free of his and with a look he could only afterwards describe as _feral _drew back and spat full in his face before melting away into darkness.

The younger officers were still watching him, afraid to walk away and risk his anger and yet more afraid to stay lest they would somehow be blamed for the woman's conduct. The first approached him, visibly shaken. "General. Sir, I meant what I said. I want no more of her..." He voiced rose perceptibly with nerves, knowing he was playing his cowardice against the general's famed humanity " I'll ... I'll kill her if she crosses me again Sir I swear it. She's yours General, do as you will, keep her, sell her, give to the lions, I care not either way. " 

He signalled to his companion who looked wan and unhappy. "By your leave Sir?" They waited tense and pale in the firelight until the general nodded that they could go and then strode away quickly into darkness as though anxious to escape a tainted memory.

Maximus breathed out in a long slow sigh and rubbed his spit-flecked jaw. What was he doing out here in the cold when all he wanted was to be sleeping?

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	2. Lux in Tenebris : Chapter 2

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Lux in Tenebris #2

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Alone at last in his tent, Maximus lay on his bed and sipped absently from a cup of wine as his mind replayed the events of the past hour again and again yet always ending in further questions. Why the young officer would insist on bringing a female slave to the camp defied him, as did the man's abrupt decision to be rid of her. Clearly she made him uneasy, his repeated references to curses and ill luck hung on the air in palpable waves ... had he got her with child?

No, that wasn't it. Maximus blinked, searching his memory for those fleeting seconds when her eyes had locked with his - dark, wide eyes. Angry, hurt and brimming with fire ... eyes that he knew already. _Feral. _The word floated into his mind ... his wife shared those eyes. He smiled remembering how they had blazed at him thus the day he had brought his small company of soldiers wearily down out of the foothills as a stranger and asked if her family had meat to spare. They had blazed again as they lay spent and entwined on their petal-strewn marriage bed and again six years ago when she woke from a four day childbed fever and he had brokenly told her that one of the twin sons she had fought so hard to give birth to was dead. 

The smile faded from his lips, they had last blazed seven months ago as she lay in his arms, praying to her gods that he had again planted the seed of life in her womb and he had told her that he must leave again to ride north with the army that very next day. She had wept, she had cursed, and finally she had begged but she knew he had no choice and so as he rode at dawn she had stood brave and proud with her secret heart clenched in sorrow to bid her husband farewell. But she could not veil the look in her eyes as he bent for one last kiss - she loved him, she honoured him, but the pain she felt was unforgiving and he was the cause of it.

Its memory haunted him now from both his wife's eyes and the slave's for that look drew its own boundaries, it shivered with hurt , it cried for release, yet it shut itself away; like the spark within a wild bird - you could try to coax it, try to curb it but you could never truly touch it because it would rather die than submit to your sympathy. 

And worse still, people such as the young officer, who mistook it for pride, found it irresistible - along with the urge to break it.

There was his answer. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up, his glance straying to the pile of skins that lay further inside the tent, fur coverlets like his own to make a servant's bed. How long had his old attendant been gone? Cut down by a stray arrow as he walked at dawn to fetch water for bathing, the gentle old man had died a slow and lingering death, his eyes hanging on his master's lips as if only Maximus' word could release him to eternity. A month ago, and despite so many offers from his comrades he preferred still to serve himself, missing the old man's company yet loth to replace it for fear of affronting his memory and honour. 

He knew too that many had whispered it foolish to take the old slave with him - their great-hearted general acting on an impulsive whim - and yet it wasn't so. The old man, feeling the cold growing within his blood, had quietly asked if he might accompany Maximus when he went North with the army, full knowing it would likely be his life's last journey and out of respect for his faithful lifelong companion, Maximus had agreed and thus against the protestations of his household and friends alike, had ridden out with him that same dawn leaving his more able-bodied and younger slaves to keep the house and his small family - a wife carrying hope and pain in her heart and a son who scarcely knew his father save in military regalia - safe.

He had begged Caesar as they parted on the road to spare a messenger; that news might be brought to his house of the death of old Marcus so that such honour as might be bestowed upon the ancient could take place and the Emperor, seeing the unspoken guilt in his general's eyes had nodded his quiet approval. But how long did it take a messenger to ride that far, even in summer when the roads were firm it was a long and gruelling trek ... he had no idea and Marcus' eldest son would need firm persuasion if he were not to accompany the messenger back and ride at once to take his father's place. Maximus shuddered, in fulfilling Marcus' wish he had brought about his end and he prayed that the boy would see this, his scorn and anger would be easier to bear than his devotion ... life was too brief, it was too far to come, his servants' hearts should remain with his own at home. 

Sighing he ran a hand through his close-cropped hair and for the first time noticed the blood on his fingers. Slowly he turned his hands over, examining them for cuts or scrapes but his flesh was whole, it was not his blood. Wind moaned through the trees and sent the torchlight fluttering raggedly across the interior of the tent and the candles at the small shrine bobbing wildly in response. He glanced towards the shrine and then walked towards it, dropping to his knees and closing his eyes even as his fingers gently lifted a small carved figure perched upon the altar ledge, pressing it to his lips. Opening his eyes he stared into the flames and felt the helplessness well within him, _"Guide me"_ he whispered, _"Do the gods send me a sign?"_

Minutes passed and no answering whisper came but the soft keening moan of the wind in the trees and the incessant flicker of candlefire across his dilated eyes. Replacing the figure of his wife he stood up. Somewhere in that silence something within him had spoken and reached the decision that the woman was indeed now his responsibility. Shivering, Maximus strapped on his armour, before wrapped in silvery wolf-skins and holding aloft a freshly kindled torch he stepped outside into the deepening twilight.

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Dusk fell thickly between the trees now although the sky was still light in the west. Above him, melting snow showered silently from narrow branches, landing on his shoulders and head, creating chill pathways as it found its way down his neck beneath the furs. He glanced upwards, the lowering sky meant more snow to come and yet in the back of his throat he tasted the faint metallic tang of rain. What would be worse? Slopping on through liquid mud or facing another driving blizzard...

He followed the path back to the place where the skirmish had been. Within the larger more palatial tents it was quieter now although the occasional voice still rang out in drunken song or jest. Maximus stole a look in the direction of the noise , not wanting to be forced to join them again and also hoping that the two young officers hadn't already walked this path with darker designs in mind. But nobody appeared to challenge him nor emerged from the tents to ask him what he was doing casting about out here in the gloom and so by the light of the torch he quickly picked up the slave's trail and leaving the camp, followed it uphill and into the woods. The first flurries of fresh snow began to fall, hissing upon the torch as he climbed upwards and into the mounting wind's embrace.

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It was over a mile before he found her. 

She stood in the shadow of an ancient yew with her back to him, gazing out into the darkness. The land dropped away sharply at her feet and from within the ravine below came the sound of a full and busy river. Clearly she could run no further that night even had she possessed the strength to do so and as if in resignation she now let the snow swirl down into her hair and settle unchecked on her shoulders. It seemed to him that she had stood that way for some time now for the whitened ground at her feet and the three slash marks on her forearm were now dark with rust coloured dried blood.

Maximus came silently around the side of the tree and as the light from his torch threw her shadow splaying against the weathered trunk he saw he stiffen, suddenly aware of his presence. He waited for her to turn but she did not, instead keeping her left cheek towards him, the torch illuminated a glitter of tears in the downcast eye.

"You have come to take me back?"

"Yes."

Clearly, the soft, low voice that answered her was not the one she had expected to hear and her head turned - the flames starkly emphasising the bruise across her cheekbone. Her lips parted but she said nothing, her eyes were unfathomable but he could see the uncertainty moiling within and could guess her thoughts as to whether she should now be very much more afraid than she had previously bargained for - for it was one thing surely to rebel against the spite and cruelty of her young and ignorant master but quite another to curse, scratch and finally spit into the very face of his commanding officer.

He was barely able to hear her in the gathering night, "If you have come to kill me, will you give me time to honour my gods?"

"I haven't come to kill you."

Her eyes refused to hold his. "But _you_ will kill me in the end, directly or otherwise for if you take me back to Marius, then he will surely take my life... if I do not take it first." Again her eyes winced away from his "_I will not serve him. I swear it_."

Maximus stepped closer. Despite seeing her every muscle tense at his approach he reached out his frost-numbed fingers and gently touching her chin, tilted her face up to his, feeling her flinch under his touch. The bruise lay like a reproachful smudge along her cheek, silver gleamed faintly at her throat and the dark eyes were liquid with a mixture of fear and defiance - clearly she had expected him to hit her and the smile he gave her now could only be designed to mock her before he did just that. _There is nowhere to run _it said _you are backed against this tree, I am stronger, faster and more than a match for you_. 

Her lip quivered but before she could bite the fear back down her knees suddenly folded with exhaustion and she crumpled to her hands and knees into the snow. Dazed with cold himself, he realised that she wore no cloak, no furs and her hair and robe were sodden with melted snow. A sob shook her whole body, "Let me die here."

Maximus, felt compassion move his heart, remembering how he had heard those words before from faithful old Marcus. He was shivering hard himself now, his fingers numb, his ears ringing. " General?" She met his eyes through the tangled mass of soaking hair and her voice broke in the gelid air as her accent leant his name a soft, unreal quality, " M-Maximus .... _please_ let me go. Leave me here to sleep, let the forest take me..."

"I can't do that."

" _Please_" the word hung between them as a single tear tracked slowly down her face This time her voice was scarcely a whisper "Will you not then, take my life?"

Again he shook his head.

Pain and anger flared briefly through the fatigue in her voice, trying to bias his reasoning "Why not? I am _nothing _to you" 

He suddenly feared that next she would beg which in turn would remind him again of his wife so far away. Shoving the threatening emotions back within his heart he reached down and pulled her roughly to her feet, feeling the unwillingness in both their muscles, he grabbed her shoulder, turning her face to his, the wind whipped his words away, "Why not? Because Marius _gave_ you to me. Because _I _am your master now and because I have _no _intention of allowing either of us to freeze to death up here."

He pulled one of the skins from his shoulders and wrapped it about hers. Her eyes had gone dark and he had the suspicion that she wasn't even seeing him now, having instead withdrawn to somewhere deep inside herself but even so, she did not fight him as he pulled her in his wake back down the path.

It was almost wholly night now and holding the guttering torch before him with one hand he kept his other fingers locked hard about her bloodied wrist for fear she should suddenly resist him and he should lose her in the dark but she followed placidly, occasionally colliding with his back when his feet slipped and he dragged them both off the track into nests of painful brambles and thorns. 

They plunged on downhill in silence into the teeth of the wind as it buffeted against their bodies and threw fresh snow into their faces, making good progress but a third of the way down Maximus felt a sudden agonising jolt on his arm and turning found that she had collapsed into a snowbank. For a moment her arms braced against the deep white in an effort to push herself back up but then her strength utterly failed her and she slipped forwards face down and motionless. He yelled and shook her hard while the wind snapped about them but although her eyes fluttered briefly there was nothing he could do to rouse her again.

Cursing under his breath, Maximus heaved her across his shoulders, tears running down his face to join the snow already frozen in his beard and lashes. Breath stinging, ankles and knees screaming their protest with every jolting step he stumbled on along the trackway, wrapped in a seemingly endless caul of pain until finally when the torch was reduced to the merest flicker he stood at last at the entrance to his own tent.

Breath sobbing and throat raw with exhaustion he flopped the woman's body down upon the pile of skins and ignoring the splinters that drove into his palms because he could no longer feel them, threw fresh wood upon the brazier. He stood for a second, weaving with fatigue, staring down at the slave's limp body before roughly pulling the furs up around it and then too exhausted to do more, beyond even the need for food or wine or dry clothes, he sank down onto his own bed and fell instantly into dreamless sleep.

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	3. Lux in Tenebris : Chapter 3

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Lux in Tenebris # 3

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He had ached all over before of course but although he was used to hurting, the pain that finally forced his its way through the heavy veil of sleep to pry apart his unwilling eyelids took him by surprise in its intensity. His whole side throbbed with it and he woke to find his left arm twisted and trapped awkwardly - cramped beneath the weight of his body. Maximus rolled over onto his back unable even to remember lying down to rest - he must have slept where he'd fallen, furs, armour and all, and not moved all night.

It was growing slowly lighter and a pale caress of pre-dawn air moved coolly across his mud-spattered face. Rubbing sleep from unwilling eyes he gave way to a wide yawn - gods, every part of him hurt. He turned to prop himself up on one elbow and let out an involuntary gasp of pain as the strained muscles of his neck and shoulders suddenly made their presence felt. Ignoring the discomfort he pushed himself upright and instantly became aware of fresh hurts blossoming all over his body. 

Crouching in the brazier's glow he examined his hands. Knuckles, palms, heels and wrists were all liberally scraped and torn whilst splinters studded his palms and fingertips, pricking as he ran them over his face which in turn yielded up nature's other triumphs over his flesh and left him scraping away dried blood with a fingernail and feeling further deep bramble-tracks on his cheeks and neck. Dare he stand? Wincing he pushed to his feet, feeling the twinges in his back and calves as he stretched. His legs were in better shape though, the thick material that encased them had saved him from the worst of thorns although some were still evident, clinging to the rough fabric, their wicked barbs ensnared on his thighs and also in his cloak.

He heated a little water on the glowing embers and set about trying to clean his face and hands in the twilight, he was almost done before he remembered the reason as to why he was crouched there, aching and half-covered in burrs.

Maximus picked his way across the tent, stepping over his own discarded coverlets and peered at the huddled pile of skins where he had deposited the woman the night before. In the silence but he could hear her breath - soft but with a faint catch as if she either dreamed or struggled to give the impression that she dreamed whilst all the while nervously aware that he watched her .

He wondered if this was a habit of hers ... it was still too dark to tell the difference

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The walk up to the hollow had been decidedly more pleasant this morning for in the night the storm had blown itself out and now the forest lay dormant under its snowy blanket. In the east the sky was changing colours as a watery sun nudged its way over the horizon flooding the landscape with gauzy light although a sliver of crescent moon still hung overhead.Snow slipped heavily from the laden branches that lined the trackway, melting quickly from the morning warmth of his body, soaking his cloak and the back of his neck although somehow it did not have the power to chill him as it had had in the darkness. Everything was better after sleep. Even the fact that a thaw - which would leave him and his troops toiling through liquid mud for weeks - appeared to be imminent, could not diminish the simple pleasure he felt in breathing in the cool morning air.

This had always been one of Maximus' favourite times of day, and the unexpected freshness of this foreign dawn awoke again in him the memories of home and the familiar paths that wound about his lands. Paths that he had taken many times in this dawn hour, paths that took him out onto the low hills that cupped his farmland in sheltering arms and there he would sit and gaze down upon his home, watching the morning light creep slowly across the slumbering land below him, watch it stretch and come to life, hear the first birdsong, see the horses stirring on their tilted hooves and going down to drink. 

With the sun's orange disc at his back he would see his shadow thrown long and dark before him across the earth, pointing towards home like some protective talisman and his lips would curve into a smile of the simplest, purest joy for in his house, in his bed, his wife would now be stirring and in his house, in the kitchens the servants would be awake, chattering like hens as they began their daily tasks and his son would soon be there to hinder them, bright as a lark, darting amongst them as they in turn laughed and delighted in indulging him when they thought his parents backs were turned. Seated on the familiar rocks with the new sun warming his skin he could watch his life unfurl around him as the light moved across the waking land and give thanks to the all gods for blessing him with this. 

Or should he choose to take other paths he could walk through his fields of whispering wheat and barley, past rows of vines and rustling olives, trailing his sword-calloused fingers through the whiskery stalks and the leathery tendrils, feeling the plumpness in the grain, the juice bursting between his teeth, the promise of good harvest. He could follow the course of the small river that wound through his land, drying to a trickle in summer yet never completely failing the thirsty earth, a place where his son could play while together watched the brilliant dragonflies dart across the waters.

And sometimes he took no path at all but lingered within the shadows of the quiet house listening to the dawn breeze moving in the whispering poplars and breathing in the scent of herbs from the gardens, the pungency of newly broken earth. Closing his eyes he would raise his face to wind, relishing the sweetness in the air, the dew thick about his feet and sparkled in the cobwebs that strung the bushes and caught upon his shoulders - all to fade away as the summer sun climbed higher, bleaching the landscape, leeching away the morning freshness until it remained as a secret only held in his heart. Always it saddened him that his wife would never rise to see this hour, and though he had begged her many times to come walk with him, she only smiled and snuggled deeper into the bed, "Later." She would whisper, "One day. I promise."

The echo of her voice brought him back to the present; where brambles not wheat reached out to snag his touch, brought him back to this chill, hilly woodland with a different sun casting long pale fingers through the gaps in the trees as the melting snow dripped from their bare limbs onto his. He shivered at last, back home it would now be Spring - warmth and green light and tiny flowers bursting from the earth like gems, but here Spring was still but a whisper, a far off promise with only the hardiest of plants pushing out tentative shoots, small specks of foolish greenery among the endless browns and whites of mud and snow

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The grey's nostrils fluttered a welcome as it saw him approaching, its breath pluming white in the cold air and as always he spoke softly to the horse, smoothing the grizzled mane and carefully checking its foreleg for heat or swelling. Quick hooves moved nearby in the hollow and he realised that there was another animal tethered close by and ducking around the grey's head found himself being watched by a smaller, dark-coated animal. Surprised, Maximus clapped the grey's neck fondly, it was not usually tolerant of close company with its own kind, and so its behaviour was almost as puzzling as the question of how the second horse had come to be there in the first place. 

He approached the horse - not much more than a large stocky pony really - with hand outstretched and allowed it to snuff at his fingers. It was very shaggy in its winter coat, its dark brown hide parted here and there by the melting snow to show a black underneath to match the straggling mane that hid its eyes and half submerged the short furry ears. He had seen animals like this before, a native breed well used to the hardship of winter's sunless days. Stout and thick limbed it watched him without fear from beneath its thick fringe and then its dark nostrils quivered as it smelled the grey upon his skin and Maximus broke into an involuntary grin as the pony suddenly threw up its jaw, upper lip curled back to reveal strong teeth as it showed its female contempt for the grey's scent. 

It allowed him to catch at the halter about its head and bundled itself up against him as curiosity lead him to pace it up and down the hollow. It moved easily, arching its dark-crested neck, skittering slightly and throwing out its hind quarters as the breeze suddenly rustled through the woods and sent a cascade of damp snow down upon its rump causing him to smile again, for as much as he loved his faithful grey gelding, its thoroughbred dignity could not compete with the ebullient character that burst from this little brown mare. 

He made to tie the pony up again, watched all the time by the faintly supercilious grey, but now that it was sure of his allegiance the little horse was not to be easily put aside. It sidled back up to him again, nudging at him with its blunt muzzle and he realised it was well used to human company, used to the touch of caring hands, being petted and fed and to hearing human voices. He caught at the pony's forelock as it nuzzled at his hands, revealing for a moment the animal's dark, trusting eyes and then catching it under the jaw he prised open the mouth. The mare made to shake her head playfully but then feeling the strength and experience in his hands decided to submit instead and standing quietly allowed him to examine her mouth. A young animal still, no more than four summers old.

Maximus' attention flicked away from the pony as sudden peripheral movement caught his eye and a slave appeared suddenly between the trees, coming from the direction of the rising sun down a path that led to a second clearing where more of the company's horses were sheltered. He was taking his time, swinging a small sack to the measure of his paces as he came churning along a track which was rapidly becoming wet and muddy. Upon seeing someone already there with the grey horse, he paused in mid stride with the bag banging against his knees, stood squinting for a moment and then increased his pace perceptibly until he halted in a breathless rush on the further side of the hollow.

Perhaps unbefitting of a slave, the man's face had broken into a wide smile at the sight of Maximus and the general could almost see the tension draining from his shoulders as the man started forwards again. Picking his way down through the melting snow and into the hollow he went up to the grey horse, smoothing its mane and dropping to his knees as he moved to examine its legs. The horse, clearly comfortable with his presence, took no notice of the crouching slave and although it did not display affection towards him as it did its master it was plain that it was easy in his company. Abruptly the man - still smiling - straightened up and set about scooping some meal from the small sack he carried and offered it to the waiting grey.

Both their gazes now rested on the brown pony, who smelling the feed and seeing the grey eating, stood with stubby ears pricked and whickered softly, urging them to comply. The dark body twisted as it strained vainly against its tether and one thickly feathered foreleg pawed at the hollow's still frozen ground.

Maximus took the sack from the slave and scooped out some grain for the little mare, walking about her as she ate, stroking her back and shoulders, looking for some sign of ownership. He raised his eyes to the watching slave, "Cicero, how did this mare come to be here?"

There was a moment's pause and then the man seemed to shrink suddenly before him, his smile fading though his eyes held Maximus' unflinchingly.

"Sir, in truth I do not know, she is not familiar to me and yet when I came to tend the grey's leg before dawn the beast was tethered here next to your own." His voice wavered slightly, "Seeing this I thought ... I had hoped..." he tailed off abruptly, embarrassment shining out of the dark intelligent eyes.

Maximus's eyes moved back to the mare and he felt an unaccounted for wave of guilt wash through him for asking the slave for knowledge of her origin. Cicero was the only slave that he trusted to tend his horse - indeed the only slave many of the company's officers would allow to tend to theirs too. He had a quiet skill, an innate knowledge for their well being and in his deep eyes and soothing hands even the most abused animal found succour. 

Cicero was also masterless, his original master having been killed when his horse - caught with many others in a blazing wooden shelter and wild with terror had trampled him underfoot as he sought to free it. It had been Cicero himself who had freed the dozen or so trapped animals, driving them through the smoke to fresh air before finally collapsing, choking and weeping as he tried to pull his master's lifeless body to safety. Weeping again as Maximus himself had helped to drag them both out to the fresh air under the silent witness of a million glittering midnight stars.

Cicero was not exactly masterless though, for in truth they were _all_ his master now, trusting their mounts to his care meant that he was really the horses' servant and many held the belief that this was as the gods had seen fit to honour him. But Maximus suspected that the man was not honoured by this service. He had tended his lifelong master well and with love and had been granted respect in his turn but now he was but a single body with many heads to attend to. Naturally some of those heads were more patient than others; some although grateful for his skills secretly mocked his appearance and some just wanted to provoke him - always hungry and snapping at his heels. He bore it well but the truth in his heart whispered to him that he was no better now than a camp slave, a common cook, everybody's property to use or abuse as they saw fit and he yearned to return to his old position.

Since the death of old Marcus, Maximus had become increasingly aware of Cicero's eyes upon him. The slave never voiced his thoughts, his hopes, directly but skirted about the edge, questioning Maximus about his homeland, expressing a desire to travel, to do his duty and to one day see this wondrous sunlit land that the General called home. Sometimes his eyes held such raw, naked hope that Maximus couldn't bear it - Cicero's willingness to serve him was written on every plane of his flame-scarred face for alone and unasked for he had subconsciously transposed on Maximus the allegiance he bore to his old master and now all he could do was wait for the word to take up his post.

Gods ... another responsibility settled like a heavy mantle about his shoulders and as the pieces fell into place Maximus realised that the brown pony must belong to Marius' slave _- no, his slave_ - the woman he had claimed as his property last night and who now lay in his tent, although how the mare had come to be there next to his own grey horse this morning was an enigma. Had the affronted Marius wanted to remove all evidence of her from his sight and so stumbled up here himself in the darkness to satisfy his galling anger or had she somehow brought the pony here while Maximus slept, perhaps to show him that she accepted the fate that unlooked for had flung her into service at his feet. 

Again, there was no real answer.

Maximus' teeth caught on his lower lip - feeling the tension in the air. At this very moment to Cicero's knowledge the General still had no servant and upon arriving here and seeing Maximus apparently waiting for him besides a new and strange horse it must have seemed to the unhappy man that this was a sign of his acceptance at last and that the claim he had long hoped for - even desired - was about to be officially laid upon him.

Which is why he looked so crushed by the simple query of what the pony was doing here.

There was no avoiding the truth. Swallowing hard Maximus raised his eyes from the mare, Cicero was still looking at him, standing by the grey with one hand pressed to its flank. All expression had drained from his face but his eyes remained steady. Waiting. Hoping.

"Cicero," Maximus' low voice grated in his throat, he didn't want to say this to a man he knew deserved better but fate had intervened to play them both a strange hand and Maximus knew he had already set foot on the path provided. There was no turning back. He had one slave, he neither wanted nor needed another and yet still he felt in speaking the truth that his mouth was full of dust.

"General?" Illumination flashed briefly in the dark eyes that held his.

"Cicero, I have taken a new servant. This mare belongs to her. Care for her as you would my own horse."

"Yes, Sir." The servant's gaze dropped abruptly as his head bobbed slowly, once in compliance and then again in deference but he did not look at Maximus now, instead keeping his eyes firmly rooted to the frozen earth at his feet as his hoped-for master's words sank in. 

Ashamed to admit to himself that he was grateful for Cicero's downcast eyes, Maximus turned and strode swiftly back through the wood and down towards the camp trying to ignore the chill of the rising breeze on his scratched and heated face as it curled and whispered about his ears in gleeful singsong mockery. 

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	4. Lux in Tenebris : Chapter 4

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Lux in Tenebris # 4

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She poked gingerly at the brazier. Sitting on her folded legs before it in the gloom brought her eyes just level with the glowing embers and by half closing them and squinting through her lashes she could make the red and black shadows dance across her vision. Warmth washed through her together with a feeling of deepest torpor and with an effort she pulled back abruptly, remembering the dangers in losing yourself this way. 

What was she supposed to do now?

She had woken with the first breath of dawn and lain without opening her eyes, suddenly feeling him close beside her, bending down to peer into her sleeping face, his breath light on her skin. Maximus. Her new master. If he had touched her, spoken to her, would she have responded? Would she have opened her eyes, bowed her head, been willing to serve him even though she did not as yet know what he asked of her? Or would she play dead, refusing to acknowledge his ownership; cursed and spat, been stubborn and mulish, fought him every inch of the way until one of them finally slipped over the edge?

She closed her eyes as the opposing thoughts drifted softly through her mind, both inviting her to take their path, both tempting although she could not say why. She was familiar with the latter path, it was in her nature to rebel, to fight - always she had had to fight because there had never been another choice open to her, even when she had known it was foolish, dangerous to rebel something inside her refused to let her yield to the situation, set her back on her feet, set her teeth in a snarl and with a mocking grin sent her back to her oppressors, back to yet another beating, another hopeless battle against a foe who possessed both herself and all the weapons with which to defeat her when all she had left was her own inner fire.

And yet ... why must she always fight against what fate threw at her? Maybe now she could let herself believe it might be different, that she could let her defences down. Perhaps if the gods were kind, if this man was not as all the men she had known before him, she would now be allowed to act as she would, do as she would, be herself without fear of reproach and if that was so what then? What else could she do, what else _would_ she do but give in to her destiny, lay down her fire and instead lay her head in her master's lap - in Maximus' lap - and swear to serve him with gladness in her heart. 

There was something so deeply compelling in this vision that it caught her hardened spirit unaware. She had fought so long, so hard and to what end? Always she was beaten but remained without the sense to submit to her defeat. Could she take this path into the new unknown and still hold true to the teachings of her past ? Could it be so? Was there room for both? Soft dark wings enfolded her tenderly and a sudden sweeping terror that this was meant to be lay vivid in the tears that squeezed between her lowered lashes. If it was to be then had everything she had ever believed in before in her life been falsehood? Was this what the gods had planned for her all along? 

Somewhere outside in the waking woods a crow called once and then again and she felt the cold chill curling up her spine. No. It could not be so. 

Why? Because she had walked this road before, felt this same way, hoped for an end to the fire that drove her, prayed that it be quenched but always, always had she been betrayed. 

And yet still she wanted to believe.

But in the end he had not spoken as she lay there; had not touched her. Instead he had simply let her feel his presence beside her and then had slipped from the tent leaving her curled in his furs knowing that she had not yet made her choice.

Not yet. 

The brazier hissed softly and she opened her eyes to find a figure standing in the doorway of the tent, his face hidden in shadow as his bulk blocked out the shafts of light that broke through the coloured draperies. She squinted up at him, unsure as to whether or not to stand to greet him and then should she do that, whether to greet him with quiet courtesy or cold indifference, the two choices whispered in her mind but before she could decide he strode quickly forwards and she realised with a jolt of fear that it was not Maximus but Marius who bent to wrench her painfully upright.

"Don't touch me, Marius, I am no longer your slave" Her voice sounded pitifully thin in darkness of the tent.

He took no notice, one large hand gripped the back of her neck, roughly twisting the dark hair she had bound into a rough braid, making her wince from the pressure of his fingers. His breath stank of stale wine as he brought his unshaven face down to hers and she struggled to turn away, only for him to twist harder. With a cold finger he traced the tender bruise that striped her cheek, though despite his consuming rage he was careful to avoid touching her mouth and risk being bitten again. His voice was lower than usual, coated with malice and dimly she realised he was afraid of being caught there uninvited in the General's tent.

As if intercepting her thoughts he chucked her hard under the jaw, "If you call out, slave, I swear that though I own you no more, I will gut you where you stand. Do you hear me?" A shiver of hate run through her but she moved her head in acquiescence and felt his finger resume its tour of her face, following a vivid bramble track down her neck to where further bruises dappled her flesh.

Satisfaction rang thickly in his tone as he fingered the scraped skin, enjoying her discomfort. "So, did your new master give you a beating for spitting at him? I sincerely hope so, although I do not expect he has punished you nearly enough" He brought his reddened face close to hers, glaring at her with a hostility she easily matched despite the sickening breath that clouded her face. His voice was barely a whisper, "I fear Maximus was too easy on you. Me - I'd have given you something to remember me by."

She couldn't resist retaliating, simply couldn't stop herself "How could I ever forget you Marius when I curse you gladly with the dawning of every new day?"

The words were scarcely from her mouth before with an oath, he had smacked her hard across the face, repeating the blow until she was too dizzy to stand. Smiling now, he thrust her roughly back into the furs and drove his knee into her ribs, watching with grim pleasure as she curled up, trying to hide from the blows and to bite back the gasps of pain that jumped from her throat. He strode quickly to the mouth of the tent and picked up a small bundle he had left there, and flinging it into the shadows of the tent addressed her curved shoulder with venom, "Here, I've had that wretched horse of yours moved up besides his and I've brought your pathetic possessions to you, but what thanks do I get hah? Already I sense that you are more loyal to Maximus than you ever were to me."

She gave him no answer and he bent low again, dragging her face up to his by a handful of her hair, "So be it then. But know this slave, he can't keep you by his side all the time, he can't watch you forever. And one day he's going see you for what you really are and then ... well, I think you can guess the rest." He dropped her head and she felt the rush of cold air on her face as he exited the tent, leaving his threat hanging in the air together with the fading scent of stale, sour wine.

It was only when she was certain that he had really gone that she gave in to the pain and herself to cry.

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Maximus passed Marius on his way back down to his own tent. He had decided on the walk back from the horses that the company should rest here for another night or two, giving the foot soldiers a welcome reprieve and also waiting to see which way the weather would break. He had crossed many deer tracks in the forest and so if enough men could be spared from reinforcing the camp he would order that later this morning a hunting party be organised, for his soldiers had travelled far on common army fare and good fresh meat would surely lift their tired spirits.

The thought of food reminded him again that he had been long without a meal himself but despite the clamour his stomach suddenly set up he went first to the centre of the camp to check that his men had food enough. He moved among the soldiers quietly as they broke their morning fast; pausing to listen to their conversation, their news and their complaints before taking his leave with his thoughts turning to his own meal. 

It was on his return from the camp kitchens that he passed Marius. Neither man paused and Marius gave him no more than the briefest of salutes, keeping his face turned slightly away from the General, he looked hot and flushed and angry.

"Marius." The tone of Maximus' voice gave the younger man no option but to wheel about to face him. He drew himself up, breathing hard and faced his superior officer with ill-disguised contempt. 

Maximus' voice remained level, "Marius, are you well?"

Marius blinked suddenly. Realising he looked a wreck with his unshaven jowls and dishevelled clothing, his small and sore red eyes. He was suddenly conscious of the sour reek of wine on his breath and the taste of his own bile thickly coating the roof of his mouth, his tongue and teeth and a vision of his wealthy father's stern disapproval fluttered weakly into his mind brought there by the steady levity of Maximus' stare. He took a deep breath, "General. I apologise for my conduct."

The blue eyes didn't waver, "Where have you been? To the horses?"

Marius seemed to sense a trap closing about him though his hungover mind couldn't quite pinpoint where the tripwire lay. He scratched ruminatively at his chin, playing for time though the expression on Maximus' face told him that he had run out of it. "Yes. Yes, Sir. To the horses."

Maximus' gaze dropped to Marius' feet, dragging the young man's eyes after it. Marius' boots were comparatively clean and his legs free of both stain and briar whereas the general's boots were thickly coated in rich dark mud while pieces of fern and bramble stem clung to his legs and cloak. Maximus raised his eyes again, "Me too"

Their battle lines had been drawn. Maximus turned to walk on and the young officer felt his jaw and spine slacken in grateful relief only to feel them set like steel again as the older man suddenly looked back at him over his shoulder. "Marius, if I find that you have been tormenting that slave - _my slave_ - again then make no mistake that I will find a way to punish you in kind. Do you understand me?"

His heart foamed with the desire to beat her again, beat her until his strength failed him, words leapt howling from his throat "Sir, she has cursed me and she will curse you too, such evil needs-"

**__**

"Do you understand me?"

Marius bit down his rage and hooding his eyes, saluted his commanding officer with all the humility he could muster from his spiteful aching mien, "Yes Sir. I understand."

Maximus held his stare for a moment more and then without another word or backward glance continued on his way.

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He pushed aside the door hangings and laid down the provisions he had brought from the mess tent, wondering what the next few moments would bring. Should he have remained at the mess where many of his fellow officers had already congregated eating, drinking, talking? They would have been glad of his company and were sorry to see him go back to his quarters yet knew better than to question his motives too deeply; each man understanding that the general he would follow even unto death valued his privacy and needed personal space even out here so far from home.

Also news had reached many of their ears over the matter of Marius' drunken conduct, and indeed the youngster's drinking companion Tullius, perhaps feeling guilty for the evening's debauchery was there himself at the table, head in hands telling anyone who would listen how Marius had engineered the whole exercise as if trying to absolve himself from blame. He lowered his head when he saw Maximus come in.

"So I hear you've taken a new slave at last, Maximus." Vallerius, one of his best cavalrymen smiled wolfishly over the rim of his wine cup, gripping Maximus tightly on the arm in a gesture of camaraderie. He leered slightly, "What would your wife think of this one then? A little bit of a contrast to that dried out old husk Marcus wouldn't you say?"

Like Maximus himself, Vallerius was also a Spaniard and it was possibly at this moment, for that reason alone that he found himself ignoring the man's jibe at his old and faithful servant and instead frowned at the man, pretending to be offended. Then his mouth curled up slightly, "My wife trusts me. As should you." 

Vallerius broke off into a peal of delighted laughter, slapping his general's wolf-clad shoulder, "Well said! As ever I am reminded of my place. But tell me my friend, I hear she is bewitched - cursed and fey. Why then did you take her from Marius?"

"Vallerius, as always you listen to too many rumours." Maximus took a sip of wine before continuing, "I did not take her, he offered her to me willingly. And I accepted." A brief shadow seemed to pass across his face and Vallerius grew still, realising that Maximus was quite serious as the blue eyes met his again, "Besides, cursed or not if I had not claimed her - if she had remained in Marius care, then likely I would now feel responsible for her death and I am not willing to bear that burden, even though - as some of them mutter in here - she is _'just a slave'_."

He had lingered there for a short while longer, exchanging talk with the other men and been asked openly many times if the rumour that had spread amongst them concerning the woman was true, but for all their knowledge he had been able to glean very little fact of her background beyond a name and as yet he was unwilling to speak to Tullius or even Marius himself on the subject. 

The matter of her past would have to come, willingly or otherwise from her own mouth

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	5. Lux in Tenebris : Chapter 5

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Lux in Tenebris # 5

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Once the immediate sting of Marius' blows had faded she came to her decision. Wiping savagely at her eyes she rose and collected up her meagre belongings - she would flee the Roman camp as she had tried to the previous evening, only this time with her eyes wide open and her wits about her. As yet she had no idea where she would go, the land about her was strange, empty and cold, but for now it was simply enough to flee, to get as far away from _them_, from Marius and Tullius - and from Maximus - as she possibly could. 

Taking the pony would not be easy. Had Marius moved the little mare to a tether close to the grey's simply because he guessed she would try to escape again and knowing that the horse was well guarded, hoped to thwart her? She slung the small bag over her shoulder, no matter; after all she was the general's slave now was she not? Surely then she could lean on the guard, lie her way out of the camp, spin some convincing tale that Maximus himself had ordered her to exercise the horses - after all, that might seem a reasonable request. And if she had to exercise one horse, then why not two? A fleeting vision of herself riding freely away upon the hot-blooded warhorse with her own dark pony strung behind brought a smile to her lips - would they believe her? Moreover, did she dare?

She took a deep breath, casting about the tent in the hope of finding something to eat, but luck was against her again - no matter, she would live on air rather than waste time now in the search for food. The day was running away from her. Outside a bird clattered suddenly through the bare winter branches and others further off answered it with quick, shrill cries. She glanced towards the doorway, how long had it been since Marius had left her here? 

It was time to go. 

But even as she turned to leave the dim-lit sanctuary the faintest flicker of a candle caught her eye and she dropped the bag again, drawn by the flame as it pulled her deeper into the tent towards its glow, something in its warmth calling to her, soothing her spirit, stilling her mind. A shrine? She sighed. So they were with her even here? _Goddess._ She lowered her face, eyes reflecting the dancing flame of the solitary candle, watching it caress the carved wooden effigies that rested on the simple shelf, the soft light falling fullest upon two smaller figures which were set apart from the rest. She stretched out her hand, fingers hovering briefly above them but she did not touch, something her within commanding that she withdraw her hand instead. 

These were not for her to hold. No, these were _his_ gods and their faces were hidden from her.

And yet had she not once been told, long ago as a child that all gods were one and the same? There were many gods, many goddesses and men knew them by different names and different faces but they were always one, one goddess, one god - the voice that spoke to you out of the darkness. Men worshipped their gods and were thus their willing pawns - for who could say what their own secret voices demanded of them from out of the darkness? Men were prepared to fight in the name of their jealous gods - to fight, to kill, to die. _Or to do their bidding_. Her eyes flinched away from the shrine but despite the ripples of unease that tracked her spine she obediently sank to her knees on the soft red carpet before it and bowed her head in submission.

How long she knelt there before the candle with her eyes closed she did not know. She begged for guidance, searching deep within herself, fading out the cries of the rooks in the winter wood outside, searching for that still, silent point between the worlds where she could find trust, answers, peace. But as always the images crept up on her, forming quietly in her mind, as she crouched there, soft shining fragments of dreams half remembered where cold rain fell endlessly through chill veils of mist, and water lapped softly as reeds rustled and moaned in the breeze of a rising moon. A place where the marshy ground beneath her feet stretched away to the pale and distant grey horizon ... _Mother. Goddess_. She pushed the dream away roughly, trying to turn her thoughts back to her meditation ... footsteps behind her, a dark-haired man cloaked in a wolf-pelt and the fresh, cold splash of rain on her neck.

__

Footsteps behind her? 

"I apologise. I did not mean to interrupt you."

Hisreturn took her completely by surprise. 

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Maximus laid down the small parcel of food and moved deeper into the tent. Angry at Marius' suspected visit to his quarters, he had not really expected to find the woman still sleeping where he had left her under the furs but even so the fact that she was nowhere in his immediate sight send a quick chill of fear through his stomach. He glanced about, quickly taking in the possible signs of a struggle - the rumpled bedding and discarded bag on the floor - and was about to retrace his steps and search for her outside when a faint sigh caught his attention and moving cautiously forward he approached the source of the sound.

His expression softened. She knelt before the faint glow of the shrine with neck curved and hands folded quietly in her lap, he could not see her face but the muted whispers that reached his ears told that she was praying and he too lowered his eyes, suddenly feeling like an intruder in his own quarters. Respectful yet a little surprised by this show of faith, Maximus stepped awkwardly backwards, but in his hurried attempt to grant her a little privacy succeeded only in breaking her concentration instead - his clumsy footsteps were magnified in the tent's muffled silence despite the floor coverings and she leapt to her feet, immediately defensive.

"I apologise. I did not mean to interrupt you."

She said nothing but her eyes betrayed her, sliding from his face to the abandoned bag of belongings on the floor between them

"How do you feel? Are you hungry?" He moved towards her, conscious as he did so of the tension that increased in her posture accordingly. 

Was she so afraid of him? Maximus stood still again and released from his apparently threatening approach, the woman began inching towards the tray of food he had brought, her eyes flicking between it and him, ready to shy away again should he move. 

He watched in silent sympathy. This was ridiculous - she was his responsibility now and he had a duty towards her as her master. Ashamed, by this neglect he moved forward to intercept, reaching himself for the bread and flask...

This was apparently what she had hoped he would do, the moment she had been waiting for. Ignoring the food, with a guttural cry she launched herself at Maximus instead, smacking hard into his shoulder with her full weight and driving upwards with her knee. Caught off balance he stumbled backwards and down, wincing in pain, tasting blood on his tongue and through watering eyes saw her claw through the thick curtains that draped the exit of his quarters and disappear outside.

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Seconds! She knew she had only had seconds before he came after her. 

Fighting down the surging panic that sent adrenalins screaming through every fibre of her body, she ran to the edge of the track and slid to a halt in the wet snow, looking quickly this way and that, half-dazzled by the morning sunlight bursting through the layered clouds. But the trees were different in daylight, the path was strange - a wail went up in her throat - she did not know where the horses were kept!

Behind her Maximus appeared suddenly through the doorway to the tent; there was blood on his lip, he looked dark and determined. She turned and for a split second they stared at each other, separated by no more than a dozen strides and then he moved forwards again, his blue eyes daring her to resist.

And now though she wanted to - though every muscle screamed to - she couldn't run from him, the expression in those eyes held her more firmly than any shackle ever had. Agonised, she forced her feet to move backwards, one step, then two ... anything, _anything _just to escape the intensity of that look. But there was nowhere left to run - she had prayed for guidance and the gods had played her false, only when he was mere paces away did the spell break and let her stumble back from his approach - as always just a moment too late.

Maximus smiled grimly. Grateful, as his fingers closed about her wrist that he had insisted his tent as always be set up here on the outskirts of the camp. Already there was far too much gossip in circulation regarding this newly acquired slave - rumours no doubt stirred and salted by her disgruntled former master.

She pulled away from him again, struggling hard against the pressure of his fingers and throwing up a shower of liquid mud and snow. To think that he would have had to go through a charade like this under the full view of all his men quite set his teeth on edge. 

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"Cicero, I have taken a new servant. This mare belongs to her. Care for her as you would my own horse."

Abandoned, Cicero stood next to the two horses, watching them eat and feeling the full weight of Maximus' confession hang heavy on his heart. The general had taken a new servant. A servant other than Cicero himself - _was he so unworthy?_

Inwardly he cursed himself for not voicing his wishes to Maximus aloud before it had come to this painful twist - but first and foremost _he was a slave_, he had been born into slavery and despite his proud carriage and the strength that coursed through his veins he could not speak of his desires for the invisible cords of his bondage lay carved upon his soul in stone. Despite his wanting it, it was not his place to ask to serve the general.

__

But the general only had to ask of him and he would serve with gladness in his soul.

Watching Maximus walk back down the track, back to the camp and away from him, he had waited - still half hoping that the general would turn and beckon his faithful Cicero forward. But Maximus did not turn and in his heart Cicero knew once again that his own hollow hopes mocked him.

__

"Cicero, I have taken a new servant." But despite these words there was no burn of envy in his blood, no jealously. Just sorrow. Sorrow that Maximus could not see - or, more puzzling to the lonely man - _refused_ to see that he would gladly leap at the honour of having him as master. 

Did Maximus think Cicero unworthy? 

Cicero was full aware that he saw in Maximus a reflection of his old master, a man who carried strength in his hand and honour in his heart. A man who would not be swift to judge, but who would be kind and fair and just. A man who would speak to him as a fellow human and not simply a slave, a master who would let him share in his life, his hopes and dreams and who would speak gladly to him about his homeland, his family and the life that lay ahead...

__

"Cicero, I have taken a new servant." Was this where his own faults lay? Did he ask too much of Maximus? Did the general see right through him and perceive the hunger in his heart ... and reject it. Perhaps that was it - perhaps Maximus feared that he, Cicero, would be too proud to serve him as he wished to be served? Would be too opinionated, demanding equality as the price of his devotion or that he would be greedy or ambitious - perhaps dangerously so ... was it true? Did it shine from his eyes and thus make Maximus reject his devotion and his loyalty?

Cicero did not think of himself as ambitious nor greedy, only faithful in service, loyal to his master - ready to defend or die if called upon. Standing in the dripping wood, silent save the rhythmic grind of the horses' jaws he felt his eyes grow suddenly wet with shame. He knew of no other way to be.

__

But if he demanded it of me I could change. O, I could change...

Self-doubt gnawed him. He remembered his first master and the old man who sired him with love. His master had been a slender, gentle man, no more than a half-grown boy himself when his ancient, doughty father had taken the young and frightened Cicero into his house, treating him - though he was, as the man who sold him stated,_ nothing but an ignorant slave_ - as one of the family. Much to the endless chagrin of his friends. 

Always the old man had been fierce in his defence of the captive youth's treatment, denouncing others who dared speak out that it was but a foolish whim to teach a slave to read and write and worse still to bear arms and be spoken to as an equal. Always, he insisted that what he was doing was for his sons' safety - both firstborn son and adopted one. Insisted that he was creating a bond no man could break. 

And the old man's faith in Cicero had paid off, for he had had created in him a guardian for his child more devoted than any hound and faithful even unto death, for unlike many of his fellow slaves Cicero served his master with a loyalty born out of love not fear. He and his young master had grown up together closer than twins, bound by an invisible pact of devotion and mutual respect, and although Cicero was always aware that he was a slave and that it was his duty to obey his master, through the old man's guidance it did not once occur to him that there was any other way.

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I know of no other way to be. Faithful unto death.

Death? But it was his master who was dead now and Cicero's devotion severed. It limped on without focus or direction, foundered daily in an endless bewildering pool of pain and wished only to return to where it knew he could be happy. Back to a master who would recognise his need.

His heart sat heavy in his breast but still the pangs of jealousy did not come, for despite the bitter slap of rejection that Maximus' words had dealt him he too was moved to sympathy for the woman who if nothing else was still a fellow slave. 

Cicero had heard of Marius' volatile temper from the timid cookhouse servant who had already felt the lash of his arrogant tongue and so if Maximus had seen fit to take her for himself in order to protect her then there was little he could do except acknowledge that the general's motives were correct. Also, painful though it was to admit it, hidden in Cicero's heart lay the certainty that no matter how devoted he proved himself, Maximus' act was something his own beloved master would also have done. 

He decided that he would return to groom the two horses later in the morning, and after checking their tethers began to pick his way slowly back down the soft and melting track, glancing briefly up at the sun as he went to judge from its position whether it was time to tend to the other animals in his care or if he could pretend, if only for a moment that his path now took him back to Maximus' quarters. 

This was something he did from time to time, a secret pleasure or innocent vice born out of the simple need to redirect his severed devotion. Hidden in the shadows of tent or tree, he would watch the general going about his duties - see him talking to his men, smiling with his comrades, perhaps drinking, perhaps eating and then returning to his tent or his roll of blankets by the roadside. Alone after old Marcus had gone to his gods.

Cicero would watch as the night drew on and stars burned cold in the darkening heavens. Oblivious to cold or damp, to hunger or the need to rest he would watch until the talk around the campfires ceased and the men returned to their beds. Sometimes he would see the general's torch extinguished and with the pale moon gleaming on his broken face, Cicero would finally be at peace, knowing that Maximus - his unknowing charge - slept sweet and untroubled as the night drew still and a silent sentinel guarded him with unwavering devotion.

As always this train of thought was pleasing to him and as his mind wandered so too did his feet and unconsciously he turned from the trackway striding instead down through the tangled undergrowth and wind-scoured trees towards the direction of Maximus' tent. If he could stand for a little while hidden deep in the forest cover then perhaps the pain in his heart would ease... but sudden noises - twigs snapping, alarmed birds calling and then unmistakably a female cry - snapped him back from his reverie. 

Wide-eyed, Cicero watched the two figures struggling in the wood below. The irony wasn't lost on him but he knew full well that neither would thank him for his observations.

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	6. Lux in Tenebris : Chapter 6

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Lux in Tenebris # 6

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He didn't want to hurt her but in the end he had had to be firm - hauling her back up onto the trackway that fronted his quarters by the simple force of superior strength and one hand locked hard about her left wrist. For all her small frame she was surprisingly strong and determined and she did everything in her power to make their progress awkward - clutching onto trees, pulling against his grip and constantly prying off his restraining fingers. Once they were on firmer ground he had hoped she might see reason, submit and follow him meekly into his quarters but no, she fought back in earnest, resisting him every step of the way with violent tugs, screams, curses and increasingly painful kicks to his shins and knees.

Enough was enough. Still hanging onto one wrist Maximus slipped behind her and pinned both her arms with his own, before wrapping them around her waist and half lifting, half dragging her - despite the desperation-fuelled struggles - backwards across the treacherous trackway and into the tent. Inside, he immediately stumbled, catching his muddied boots in the heaped up coverlets and cursed under his breath as a flask of wine tumbled into the shadows. Was it his imagination or had a sudden change come over his captive as he pulled her back inside? Her strength seemed to have finally burned itself out, replaced instead by a trembling submission and small gasps of fear that hissed between her clenched teeth - yet her muscles remained tense in his grasp. Looking down, Maximus frowned, still holding her hard against his armoured chest, torn between suspicion and sympathy. Was this genuine resignation or another ruse? She had tricked him once already and he was not quite ready to place his trust in her again.

She twisted suddenly in his grasp, one last desperate throw of the dice and in retaliation he dragged her back a few more paces until with a final heave he was able to throw her across the only convenient surface to hand - his bed. The momentum carried him forwards too and he landed heavily across her hips.

__

"Nooooo, I won't let you ... you can't, you can't...."

Maximus realised by the note in her voice that the fear - if not the submission - had been genuine, but despite the pity that welled in his heart he stayed still for a moment more, watching the bright panic flare in the tear-blinded eyes as she struggled uselessly against his pinning weight. Struggled until finally she knew it was hopeless.

__

He was too heavy. She couldn't get free.

For the space of two shuddering breaths their eyes met and then crimson shame flooded her cheeks and she turned her face away, hiding it in the hollow of his shoulder. Muffled, choking sobs broke against his neck, _".... Please, please. "_

Gods, did she really think he was capable of _that?_

A surge of scarlet anger rushed through him as he eased himself upright. Out on the forest last night she had clearly expected him to hit her - to take out his frustration for the scene in the blizzard and assert his mastery over her, and now, having been dragged into his quarters and pinned on his bed it was only too obvious to read in her reactions what she fully expected he was going to do to her next. Quite possibly what she imagined he had planned to do all along.

Maximus felt his anger fade to be replaced instead with nausea and a dull familiar throbbing in his chest. He had never lifted - would never lift - his hand against a woman and although he knew that some men - indeed many in his own company - held no such principals, here and now when suddenly face to face with reality in one who had experienced their cruelty first hand, he felt suddenly sick and also perversely ashamed.

He knew that the words he said to her now would no doubt have been whispered into her ears before, and that she could not be blamed for disbelieving them, or him. He knew but still he spoke them, in a voice now husky with broken emotions, "I will not hurt or dishonour you, I swear it."

"How can I trust you..." her voice was muffled, she lay curled on the bed with her face turned into the coverlets.

He laid a hand on her wrist feeling her flinch from the touch, "If I had wanted to take you why would I wait? Why not take you last night when you were too weak to fight me? Or this morning as you lay sleeping and defenceless?"

Her throat moved, stifling another sob but she made no reply and so ignoring the way she tried to jerk from his fingers, he stood and pulled her upright into a sitting position, struggling to keep his voice level, "Was Marius in here? Did he hurt you?"

Again she made no answer, instead tilting her face slightly to keep her left cheek towards him but something in her posture told him that for now at least he had won and that she would not attempt to run from him. It was satisfying and yet he felt no sense of victory over her submission.

Moving slowly so as not to startle her, Maximus slipped the wolfskin and stained cloak from his shoulders, flexing grateful muscles as his bulky armour was similarly discarded. Dressed now in a simple robe of deepest blue over a paler tunic, he busied himself with making up the brazier and setting fresh water to heat before turning his attention back to arranging the long forgotten food, all the while stealing subtle glances at the woman as he worked.

By luck or design she had moved slightly on the bed so that her face was half in shadow but even so he could study the dark eyes and wide mouth set in a freckled, heart-shaped face. He guessed she was about eighteen. Petite yet not delicate, she sat wrapped in her plain grey garments wholly indifferent to his gaze with her own eyes wide and unfocused so that he found himself wondering if this was where others had been lead to suppose her fey. She moved slightly and a chain of silver gleamed at her neck accentuated by the shadows of her hair and lowering his gaze he saw strange faded marks upon her arms and that one wrist bore the evidence of a bone broken and badly set. She was strange but she was not beautiful. Not in the way his wife was beautiful.

Maximus' new servant sat blank and impassive under his scrutiny and with the thick, dark hair coming down from its braid; awry and spilling into her eyes he realised with surprise that she reminded him of the pony. 

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Although it was still far from mid-morning, the sun had already retired for the day as the hunting party rode out. Along the horizon and beyond the wooded hills, thick mallow and grey coloured clouds gathered, forbidding shapes towering into the luminous sky.

Maximus shivered as he peered out into the mounting wind, seeing it buffet horses tails and men's cloaks alike in its claws. First the snow, the numbing ice and now this. Already he could taste the rain between his teeth, could feel the endless trudge through clinging mud telling on the muscles of his calves and thighs. A longing for the sunlit fields of home teased briefly through his head and he pushed it away, it did not do to dwell on dreams.

Moving back inside the tent he re-lit the torches and washed his face and then his hands in the warmed water, feeling as he did so the prick of still imprisoned splinters in his fingertips and palms. _Something else to attend to_. Aware though he was of delaying the inevitable, he lingered over drying himself and then moved back towards the small table where he had set the food, pulling it towards the bed and chiding himself as he did so for feeling so awkward when after all he had always had servants at his disposal - if not ones who had held their office with quite as much resentment.

Pulling up a low stool, he sat down opposite her, intentionally blocking her field of vision so that she was obliged to look either at his face or blatantly turn her head away. Stubbornly she kept her eyes on the table, refusing to look up as he held a cup of wine out to her.

"Drink. It will do you good." He tried in his tone of voice to reassure her but she simply stared at the goblet until patiently he took up her hand and after wrapping the unwilling fingers around the stem, lifted it and the cup, tilting it to her mouth. Surprised at the fragrant liquid's cool touch on her bruised lip she swallowed on reflex and her eyes briefly met his before shying away again, confusion shining in their depths as she realised that she did not know the rules of this game he was playing. 

"You have to trust me." His voice dropped softly into the silence between them.

She had been sitting with her eyes fixed firmly on some point inside his chest, but now her gaze shifted and despite herself she could not help but follow his fingers as they took up the small brown loaf that he had brought back from the mess and broke off a sizeable portion.

As the bread broke, a hint of warm steam and a delicious aroma rose from the soft, mealy interior and Maximus' mouth immediately began to water but ignoring his own needs he instead reached for a small earthenware pot and dipped up a little honey - almost the last of the mess's winter store - and spread it onto the new-baked bread, pushing the platter towards her, offering her the sweetened slice. 

She swallowed, setting her jaw, her voice the merest murmur "To take your food would mark me as your property."

Maximus nudged the bread further towards her; "You already _are_ my property."

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In the end, simple hunger had won out as he had hoped it would. Hating herself for her weakness yet unable to longer deny what her body demanded of her, she took the piece of bread from him, and watching her slowly chewing, Maximus was again aware of her inner conflict; saw the dark eyes fill with unshed tears.

His own appetite could no longer be ignored and he set to with almost boyish eagerness, as if her acceptance of food had released the brakes on his own willpower. How long since his last meal? He had no idea but this plain and simple breakfast now seemed a welcome feast and he wolfed it down gladly, finishing as she had begun with honey thickly plastered upon the last of the bread.

Maximus pushed away the empty platter and took a long, deep drink of wine, noticing as he did so that she was watching him now, again with her head slightly tilted. He frowned, where had he seen that before? The answer came to him together with the first splash of raindrops on the trampled mud outside - of course, an old legionary whom he had known in his youth. A soldier who had fought for Rome and in doing so lost the sight of one eye for his loyalty. He looked back at the woman again, wondering how she came to be this way, both her eyes seemed equally bright, there was no scar, nor clouding yet he felt sure now that the left eye was blind. Was she born that way, or - and his brow darkened at the concept - had somebody brought this fate upon her? 

He did not want to think of the possibilities, and so to busy his mind set about collecting fresh water and a soft clean cloth while she watched him from the bed. Pulling the stool closer he sat down beside her, "Let me clean up your arm."

She looked at the cloth and bowl and then stretched out her arm to him, then her eyes shifted, searching his face, her voice almost lost in the sudden smack of wind against the tent, the mounting drum of raindrops on the cloth, "The forest ... the snow ... why did you not leave me, let me die there as I wished?"

Taking the soaked cloth, he wrung it out and began to clean her arm, Marius' knife had left a series of livid cuts across the flesh, not too deep but ugly and now clogged with caked blood. She made no move to pull away as he rubbed the matted wounds clean, trying to be gentle but even so the cuts began to ooze again. He bound her arm with a fresh strip of linen 

__

Why did you not leave me?

"Maximus?"

He paused for a moment and then flung the bloodied cloth back into the bowl, "I have told you. Marius gave you to me and - for better or worse - I had ... I have, no intention of letting you die"

"You wish for me to serve you?" 

"I wish for you to regain your health and yes, to serve me. Marcus, my old servant died a month ago and now you will replace him. Do you not think it would be pleasant sometimes to talk a little? To learn from each other?" He saw her flinch, "I will try not to treat you unjustly, Sil."

Her eyes widened, she bore the look of a predator whose teeth had just been blunted, "You know my name."

Maximus' couldn't help but smile at her indignation, knowing she had believed that while he remained in ignorance, she had possessed some kind of hold over him. His fingers lit upon her wrists for a moment, gently examining the curious marks that wound about their undersides, soft dark blues almost lost in the hue of her muddied skin.

"Of course. And you know mine. Sil, Marius is a fool, hot headed and arrogant ... and cruel." Gently he touched the knife marks and then the bruises that marbled her neck and arms, some fresh and vivid, some fading. 

"He did this to you." It was a statement not a question

Her accent leant her reply a curious note of satisfaction, "I did not please him"

"Perhaps he did not deserve to be pleased"

A note of panic slipped back into her tone, as if she - like Marius - was suddenly aware of a trap about to spring, "I did not respect him."

"He does not seem a man to command respect"

The eyes that held his were defiant, she knew - and feared - exactly what his next response would be but still her lips shaped the words "I did not obey him"

His voice was soft and low, infinitely gentle. "Will you obey me?"

Her mouth opened "I ..." 

She didn't want to - _oh goddess she didn't want to_, but he was - Maximus was - staring at her now in a way that try as she might wish to she simply couldn't look away from. He terrified her, for she knew he could see past the teeth and the eyes, past the screams and temper and tears, and that however hard she tried to she would never be able to hide herself from him again. 

His lips curved gently waiting for her response. She didn't want to respond, _she didn't want to! _But he was dragging it out of her with a gentleness that appalled her.

Because she had no defence against it. 

"I..." _Goddess, let me not give my oath and then be cursed, forsworn ..._

"Will you obey me?"

He was going to make her say it ... _no,_ she was going to say it herself ... no, _he_ was going to make her say it and it would feel as if she had sworn of her own free will ... _Maximus do not ask this of me..._

She stared at him miserably 

"Sil, I know you do not want this, that it is in your nature to fight rather than submit. " From a fold of his robe Maximus pulled a small polished dagger and as she watched drew the point across his fingertip, drops of deep red blood welled in the blade's wake. The blue eyes held hers as he passed her the knife; "If I should bind you to me will it make it easier for you to bear?"

Bind her to him? _A blood oath?_ So this was it at last, the trap had finally closed about her for Maximus knew full well that this would hold her to her vow as nothing else would.

She hated this but she had no choice for only the fickle gods would demand a price like this. Slowly she drew the sharp point across her own finger, cutting deeply with her teeth set in her lip as a narrow trail of blood ran down to her wrist. As she laid the dagger aside he raised his hand to hers and for a few seconds their blood mingled as their fingers touched.

Maximus saw the resentment in her eyes. He had not wanted to force her to this and could see that she hated him for what he was doing by laying such a claim on her, but even so, past his own self-doubts and vague sense of shame he knew that this was the only way to protect her,

Still clasping her fingers his eyes met hers again as he asked for a third time, "Will you obey me?"

"Yes" 

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	7. Lux in Tenebris : Chapter 7

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Lux in Tenebris # 7

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The rain showed no sign of stopping, and as he walked slowly about the camp that afternoon he could almost feel it settling about the men's bent backs like a tangible depression. The snow had been a raw and simple cold that could be physically dealt with, even ignored, but this endless rain soaked through every cloak, found its way down the back of every neck and dulled the spirit of every man who felt its chill and numbing touch. Striding through the sodden camp, Maximus felt the ground give beneath his boots as the iron frost's grip was slowly transformed into a slick and treacherous muddied surface.

He wiped rain from his eyebrows. Everything was blurring, the once snow-covered branches held their now-denuded limbs up to the rain's ceaseless tattoo and brown pools collected in every dip and hollow as the snows melted and fed them. Tender green shoots that had peeped from the snow now lay crushed underfoot as deep ruts opened in the thawing earth, leaving men floundering, already ankle-deep in chill liquid mud. No bird called from the dripping forest and Maximus could tell by the slope in their shoulders as they rode out of the mists, back through the wind-driven veils of rain that the hunting party had been unsuccessful - there would be no fresh meat for the meal tonight.

Vallerius, his face puckered by cold and spattered with mud, slid clumsily down from his bay gelding and almost lost his footing on the puddle-pocked trackway. He dashed a hand across his face and spat, ignoring Maximus for a moment as he tried to work life back into his cramped joints, "Curse this backward country!" Maximus waited patiently as he stamped up and down on his deadened feet, "Nothing. Not a deer, not a boar - not even a miserable hare. It's as if every animal in existence has gone to ground, we rode for miles and saw nothing." He glared at the thick clouds and shivered, the rain had plastered his hair down thickly over his forehead and he looked suddenly haggard, far older than his twenty-four years.

Maximus forced a smile, "Perhaps tomorrow-"

"Tomorrow?" Vallerius jerked his thumb in an uphill direction, "Maximus, if we stay here much longer we'll be lying in water. Already on the higher ground the streams are flowing full and my scout reports that several feed down through the camp. It's going to get uncomfortable to say the least."

"Very well. Inform the others that we move at dawn." 

Maximus made his way down the trackway and past a small knot of men who had gathered close to the cookhouse. Word had already spread about the failed hunt and now they stood dispirited, peering out into the grey afternoon. He felt for them, they had walked for days with the spectre of hunger always nipping at their heels and the prospect of a full hot meal this very evening had lifted many a heart. Now nature had intervened to deny them their bounty and seemed intent on mocking them further still with its sheets of cold rain to whip at their already wind-chapped skin. How they found the will to smile and address him warmly as he walked past them was almost more than his heart could take.

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Cicero too had seen the hunting party come back empty handed and together with several others had at once taken charge of the steaming horses, setting to work on them with handfuls of dried bracken and blankets and all the while feeling the glow of secret achievement and anticipation warming his belly. He checked again on the General's horse and its companion dark mare, and satisfied that the animals were comfortable slipped away from the direction of the camp, following a deer track downhill to where it broadened out suddenly onto a long low bank studded with rabbit holes. The rain fell endlessly upon his exposed neck, running down his jaw as he began to stealthily descend the bank. There was work to do.

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Maximus let his breath out slowly in a long sigh, it was a good two days march until they could reach a town large enough for his company to be able to reprovision without leaving the people who lived there in want. He refused to do as many before him had done - simply ride into the nearest village and order that his demands - the demands of Rome no less -be met, even if that should mean emptying already depleted granaries and barns and leaving the people to go hungry themselves. His jaw set, he would never take that path, for better than many he understood the hard days of harvest-time, the endless labour to secure provision for the lean months ahead.

Stooping, he entered the cookhouse tent, breathing in the warm aroma of new bread again and squinting in the gloom, trying to locate the timid servant whose job it was to oversee the management of the company's provisions. Two dark-eyed slaves, possibly Greeks, whom he did not recognise, were busy at a table close by, throwing ingredients into a large cauldron; they had been speaking in hushed and rapid tones but quietened at his entrance, staring at him watchfully from beneath lowered lids...

"Where is Cato?"

Soft steps behind him made him turn. "Sir?" The servant he had been looking for came towards him from out of the gloom, closely followed by Tullius. "Sir, forgive my neglect, I did not see you enter or else I would attended to your needs at once." His head bobbed anxiously reminding Maximus of a hen pecking at grain. Everything about Cato spoke of nerves and anxiety, he was a small, solid looking man of possible Germanic descent with a head of thick blond hair and eyes the colour of ice. It was the hair - and no doubt the nervous disposition - which led to many of the men secretly nicknaming him Flavus.

"Cato, you were not being neglectful. You were working for me were you not?" Tullius pushed himself forward smoothly, resting a hand on the small man's shoulder, he seemed to have recovered much of his composure from earlier that morning and smiled warmly at Maximus, "General, the good Cato has been most obliging," he ran a hand deliberately across his freshly shaven jaw, "His steady and sympathetic touch with the blade has no doubt assisted and won admiration from the skilful butchery of many animals, and he has now assisted me in regaining at least a measure of aplomb, after all just because we are far from our homes and adrift in a savage land, it does not mean we ourselves should look like savages."

Maximus winced inwardly, both at the barb directed towards his own appearance, and at the pomp in Tullius' tone, it was no secret after all that Cato was also the company's barber and yet it annoyed him to find this man here in the tent with him with no more good cause than his vanity to satisfy. He nodded briefly to Tullius and led Cato slightly aside, suddenly conscious of the mud on his cloak and boots, his rain-slicked hair and untrimmed beard in contrast to the smooth-skinned, spotless youngster behind him.

"Cato, I'm sorry, the hunt was unsuccessful - there will be no fresh meat for the meal tonight. How do our provisions stand?"

The blond head bobbed up and down again, "General, Sir, we have enough for a scant three days, bread is not a problem but our other supplies are almost gone." Cato's hands wrung constantly at each other, his expression melancholy. "Sir, by your permission Master Tullius has offered to furnish us with the last of his own company's supplies - made into a broth or stew there would be enough for every man to be served full portion and together with fresh loaves it would be as good a meal as any I could provide..." Timid pride rang in Cato's tone, "With your permission Sir?"

"Actually General, seeing that the hunt had met with no luck I have already taken the liberty of setting my servants to helping Cato with the preparations, " 

Tullius' wide smile did not reach his eyes and seeing Maximus perceive this he hurried on, "When we were sent down to meet you on the road we did not know how long the journey would take us and as fortune would have it we met sooner than anticipated and now find ourselves more than over-provisioned. We have dried goods in plenty and it would please my heart if you would accept this offer. Your men have travelled far and I know that they would welcome it too." A note of anxiety crept into his voice and his face flushed slightly, "Sir, I do not wish to appear that I am trying to buy your favour, I wish only to help your men."

Maximus regarded him steadily. He held no doubt in his mind that Tullius was not the type of man to place ordinary legionaries' needs before his own and was instead skilfully exploiting Maximus' own well known weak spot, but in his mind's eye he could still see the disappointed faces in the rain and he knew that what the youngster said made sense for yes, the men would welcome the meal and more than that, they deserved it.

"Very well, Cato you may do as you wish." He turned back to Tullius, conscious again of how bedraggled he must appear against the waiting youngster's pristine elegance, his fingers moved over bramble scratches to his throat, his beard suddenly thick and unruly and for the first time in weeks he wondered what he must look like to the others. "I thank you Tullius". Despite the sincerity Maximus felt for his mens' sake still he did not trust this man and the words seemed to stick in his throat. 

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Sil looked up quickly, she had been kneeling before the shrine again when the footsteps sounded outside the tent. She looked around quickly for a weapon but Maximus had not left his sword visibly to hand, she nodded with satisfaction - he did not trust her as much as he pretended to it seemed.

"General?"

She did not recognise the voice that called softly from without but despite the tension than prickled down her neck she pushed aside the drapes and moved into the light, reasoning that if it had been Marius he would have stormed straight in as before - she did not credit her former master with the wit nor manners to call for Maximus' presence at his very door.

The man who stood waiting, ankle-deep in soft mud before her was a stranger, a stranger dressed simply in browns and greys who gazed down at her with wide eyes half-hidden under a thick head of rain-blackened hair. She swallowed, recognising the deep and curious lines that marked his face as scars; scars made by the slashing of some angry blade be it dagger or sword and subconsciously her fingers moved to her own arm, massaging the fresh wounds there in empathy. She knew instinctively that this man too was a slave.

Cicero blinked, suddenly unsure of his purpose. He had fully expected Maximus to be within the tent even though he had been unable to observe it for several hours due to his duties and the woman's emergence from its depths in lieu of his beloved General's had thrown him into confusion. He had only seen her twice before and never spoken to her, and yet now that he had the opportunity to speak, his tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of his mouth. He stared at her as she watched him in careful silence, one hand rubbing her arm as though something pained her though her face was totally expressionless as she shivered in the damp afternoon air. 

Dark eyes, dark hair - forgotten images suddenly slipped into his mind of the sunlit days when he and his young master had listened eagerly to tales brought in by those who travelled the land and had visited the far north where the great wall stood, Rome's last frontier. Rumours of tribes where fiery women fought alongside their menfolk, skilled with blade and fierce of spirit, sometimes streaked in garish blue as they flung themselves into battle ....

He blinked again, but this one before him now was surely far smaller than he had imagined these women to be, too small to be a warrior. His mind fluttered on instead to half-remembered tales from the west and of a secretive people rumoured to passively resist the advance of Rome, who rejected its relentless oncoming tide, content instead to fall ever-backwards into decline, preferring to keep to their old dark ways and withdraw into the hills alone. He studied her afresh and wondering, for she did not bear resemblance to the people of these tales either.

The rain fell steadily between them and when she finally spoke he was surprised to find that she was easy in his language and though her voice was charged with a heavy accent it was not unpleasant and harsh to his ears but soft and low though the words she chose were not particularly welcoming.

She drew a ragged breath, gazing at him as if in calculation. "What do you want?"

Cicero blinked the rain from his eyes. _What did he want?_ A dozen appeals ran through his mind - he wanted to be in her position, to belong to Maximus and to serve him with honour, to take her place if she would forfeit it ... and yet ... _and yet_ ...

And yet he knew it was not his place to ask. Maximus had claimed her for himself of his own freewill and despite the struggle he had witnessed from the woods this morning, it appeared that she had now accepted her role and taken it up with pride for here she was, standing by Maximus' quarters - _now her quarters too_ - a visual affirmation of his mastery over her. It did not occur to the faithful Cicero that Sil was held there by anything other than her desire to remain.

She shivered again, peering at him through the slanting rain as it fell coldly on her shoulders and he bent low, swiftly bringing up a small mass from the sack at his feet and holding it out to her at waist level, seeing as he did so her flinch away from his hand. Although he had never been beaten by his master, the move was unmistakable and he realised that she was afraid of him.

Cicero suddenly felt any doubt he had harboured towards her in his heart melt away, they were both slaves and thus they shared hopes and desires and common ground. "I apologise. I did not mean to startle you." He bent again, laying the bundle on the ground between them and retreated with the sack, watching her gaze shift from him to the two dead rabbits he had laid at her feet and then back to him again as he continued, "I was fortunate in my hunting today, the gods were smiling for I snared a good many rabbits and when I saw that the hunting party had failed I yearned to share my luck and make a present of these to the General. They will surely taste better than anything Cato may offer tonight" 

She said nothing, and it was on the tip of his tongue to ask her if she knew how to prepare them when she suddenly stooped and picked up the rabbits, hugging their limp, damp bodies to her breast like a child, her lips moved silently and then she spoke, but did not smile, "Thank you. I will tell him of your gift." Still hugging the rabbits, she inclined her head slightly towards him and then swiftly backed into the tent.

The chance of offering his aid, to help clean and prepare the meal - and perhaps even share in the company of its consumption - was gone and feeling suddenly awkward and out of place before the general's tent Cicero returned slowly through the fading daylight to the camp.

****

****************************

Nearing the tent, Maximus was instantly aware of the metallic tang of blood on the air and for a moment his heart clenched through fear of what he might find as his mind raced to the possibility that Tullius had designed to engage him at the mess tent in order to leave Sil at Marius' mercy. It came as a relief to instead find her on her knees, a few yards from the tent stripping the skin from the second rabbit's carcase as the first lay neatly alongside, denuded and with its belly slit open. Rich dark blood stained the earth and her fingers as she worked, and he slowed his pace, berating himself for his frightened misgivings. 

She ignored his approach but he knew full well that she sensed he was watching her simply by the way she suddenly plunged her knife deeply into the second rabbit's underside, cutting from breast to tail. Her head came up, teeth gritted and their eyes locked as she wrenched out the guts in a single bloodied mass and hurled them away into the woods, her eyes glittering with tears of resentment. She lowered her face again, deftly removing the rabbit's feet and head and flinging these too into the trees before standing and collecting the prepared rabbits, staring at him with her hands red with blood.

But contrary to the invitation of her provocative body language, Maximus remained unsatisfactorily neutral, he smiled and thanked her, in effect turning her anger back upon herself and finally she had no choice but to follow him into the tent, laying the twin carcasses down at the doorway and cleaning her hands in the bowl of water he offered her, 

He nodded at the rabbits, "Do you know how to cook them?" Of all the things he might have said this was not what she had expected and the newly worked up resentment vanished in a flash of incredulity.

"Of course."

He grinned, "Good. Because I don't." 

She didn't believe him of course, it was a well known fact that every Roman soldier no matter how high his rank could fend for himself, cook and hunt at need but she said nothing, watching as he moved deeper into the tent, rummaging through a ragged bundle lying on the floor and returning with a small cooking pot into which he placed the rabbits. He smiled at her, "Sil, I'm not asking you to cook these for me tonight, I will ask Cato. Do you want to come?"

Sullenly she shook her head, her eyes following him to the door of the tent and watching him go. It did not take her long to realise that the new ache that sawed beneath her ribs was wounded disappointment

****

****************************

He walked quickly through the rain as dusk settled over the camp, torches had been lit and braziers quietly glowed in the gloom. The cookhouse was alive with bustle and savoury smells and clogged with men who had no real reason to be there who loitered close to the fires inhaling the warm scents and talking eagerly amongst themselves. Locating Cato amidst the crowd, Maximus gave his orders - including that Cato reserve a portion of the rabbits for himself and then returned through the dusk, watching as tendrils of pale fog began to wind across the ground.

He was back inside his own quarters within minutes, Sil hadn't moved from the spot where he had left her, she sat with her back to him breathing resentment, "Maximus, you do not trust me."

"Do you want my trust?" 

She glanced at him over her shoulder, trying to gauge if there was any threat in his voice, "I do not know."

"Do you trust me?"

"No."

"No. And still you ask for my trust?" A note of fatigue crept into his tone as he crossed the tent and picked up a cup, filling it with wine. She watched him darkly, feeling the flickering anger mounting in her belly, he seemed oblivious to her frustration, moving easily about the confined space, shedding his outdoor cloak and stretching out his hands to the brazier's warmth. Their eyes met across its haze, "Why do you feel I do not trust you."

"You think me incapable of preparing food."

"This fire is not enough to cook on, you cannot stand out in the rain for hours."

"You hide your weapons from me."

"Do you need a weapon?"

"I need to protect myself."

"From what? You are under my protection."

A bitter smile curved her lips, revealing her canines, "No, the truth is that you fear I will turn it against you." Her eyes gleamed at him across the brazier from beneath the shadows of her hair and for a split second a spike of exquisite fear shot through his belly before he realised she was deliberately trying to breed paranoia in him and vaguely wondered if she had tried this trick with Marius in the past.

His voice retained its levity, "And this is the reason why I should trust you?"

"No!" She jumped to her feet and he quickly followed, astonished by her sudden outburst as her anger finally erupted into screams, and she flung her grievances across the flames into his face, "You should trust me because you have made me your slave, _dominus. _" she spat the final word at him like a curse. " This was not my choice! You should trust me because I am nothing but your possession, I have _nothing_, I am _nothing_. " Pride and misery ached in her voice, "But above all else because you have taken my blood and I have taken yours in oath." She struck the cup he held out to her aside and sat back down abruptly, anger spent, she buried her face in her hands.

"Sil, I know it was wrong to ask that of you."

Her fingers moved slightly to reveal her eyes though her lips were still muffled, "Wrong or not I gave my oath, wrong or not my oath holds me to you." Her hands fell away from her face and she drew a shaking breath " Do not play with me nor my loyalty Maximus, you are not so naive."

"Even so, you should not serve me out of fear."

She pushed herself up off the bed and stood in the centre of the tent looking down at him. Torchlight rippled across her body, her voice was low and husky, "Fear, love, hatred, _revenge_ ... every slave must serve with whichever fits him best. But only those that love earn trust." 

"Sil, give me time and I will learn to trust you." _Although I fear from your eyes it will be long before you will serve me with anything other than resentment._

She sighed, "Perhaps. But no one has ever trusted me before, for they see darkness within me and they think me cursed until in time I am cursed. You will see it too in time but my days with you will be fleeting Maximus, and when I am gone from you, you shall be free,"

Maximus smiled sadly, it pained him to see evidence of her mistreated past and attempting to divert her attention from the maudlin track she had moved onto, he came across to her, holding out a second goblet of wine only for Sil to turn towards him suddenly with a curious light in her widening eyes,

"You're cursed too, Maximus. You bear the mark" 

Her fingers lightly touched his face and again the sudden dark wings beat fiercely behind his temples, he winced and grabbed her wrist, memories of the sensation's first strike outside the mess tent fresh in his mind. Slowly the pain faded, he gasped. "How do you do that?"

He saw her pupils contract "I did nothing"

"But I felt it again when you touched me ... the same - a pain like a hammer in my skull - did you not feel it too?"

__

"I feel nothing." Her eyes held his, voice flat and he knew she was lying, "Do you now believe that you too are cursed?"

He met her eyes squarely. How many times he would have to extend an olive branch before she finally saw it as a genuine motive? "No."

"We are both cursed." Sil tried to pull her wrist free from his grasp but he refused to let go, tightening his fingers instead thus forcing her to return to a verbal attack "Shall I tell you what I see for you?"

He smiled, deciding that perhaps it was time play by her rules. Wondering if anyone had ever been challenging towards her behavior rather than simply aggressive in the past, "Sil, if you are trying to scare me, let me tell you that it won't work but in return perhaps I try to scare you."

Her throat rippled as she swallowed but she faced him calmly. "There is nothing you can do to frighten me, _dominus_." Again the last word came out like a barb.

"Do you think so, Sil?"

She eyes flashed with anger but her voice had suddenly become remote and cold, "You could beat me, you could ravish me but your eyes tell me that you will not do these things, and so the worst that you can do is kill me and you know that I would welcome that."

Maximus - still gripping her wrist - drew her face close to his, his voice very low as he breathed "No Sil, I will not hurt you nor ravish you but I could give you back to Marius." 

A snarl leapt past her teeth "And have him do to me what you will not?" For the first time he felt her relax in his grip, as she turned back to face him, her voice stronger now. "Maximus, understand that you will kill me one way or another but even so you cannot make me fear you." 

He shook his head and pulled her down onto the couch beside him, answering the defiance in her eyes with a neutral expression "I _can_ make you fear me Sil, in fact I'm doing it right now aren't I? Admit it."

Emotions she couldn't mask flooded her face seconds before she could turn away and he saw her struggle to remain aloof as he poured a fresh cup of wine and sat back to study her profile, knowing he had won at least this fight. Knowing she realised that he could see right through her, that it was time to stop pretending, stop fighting.

This time her voice was completely different, shorn of pride and self-pity it felt as though for the first time she was really speaking to him, "Yes. When you look at me, when you speak to me, I feel naked, " Her voice lowered and she turned her head away " You make me question myself where no one has ever done that before. You scare me because you make me share my thoughts, reveal myself ... " Her lip trembled slightly, "Never before have I felt so vulnerable."

"Well now I'm going to scare you again." Gently Maximus turned her face back towards his, holding out a wicked-looking knife. "I'm going to start trusting you." 

****

**************************** 

Lying awake in his bed by the glow of the torchlight, Maximus ran his fingers across his freshly shaven throat. In lieu of her outburst, Sil had quite clearly thought he was insane in giving her a razor-edged blade and asking her to run it across his exposed neck and indeed as he lay back feeling her press the knife's edge against the taut skin he had begun to have misgivings himself, for it was one thing to show her he was willing to place his trust in her judgement but quite another to literally place his life in her hands.

It came as a surprise to him that she was skilled at her task, the blade scraped carefully across his skin without once cutting him although he could perceive a slight tremor in her fingertips and realised that she was every bit as nervous as he. Opening his eyes he stared up at her, her brow was creased in concentration as she only met his gaze briefly before resuming her task, trimming carefully at his overgrown beard. He wondered if this was asking too much of her, she was already apparently living on a knife's edge of her own making and to give her a task such as this one - the choice between slitting his willingly-offered throat or obeying her oath to serve him seemed vastly unfair ... and yet there was no other way he could show her his trust.

When she had finished, he splashed his face with water and peered down into the wide bowl. The reflection it gave back to him was poor but gave enough of an image to show that she had done her task well, he turned to thank her but she had vanished into the gloom of the tent and moments later stumbling and the flare of a torch outside the tent heralded the arrival of honest Cato and the evening meal. 

****

**************************** 

He didn't hear her leave her bed and slip silently through the tent's curtained door. Outside the rain had stopped and a watery moon filtered down through the layered clouds. The woods were full of the rustle of running water and the low hoots of owls, and suddenly the clouds parted a little and every puddle was filled with broken silver light. There was enough light to see by should she choose to leave him.

Leave him? She had given her word.

__

But it was just a word.

Sil brought her hand up to her face, in the moonlight the small red cut across her fingertip stood out stark and black. 

But she had not _just_ given him her word, she had sworn by their blood, his and hers and though every muscle told her to seize her chance and flee she knew in her heart that she would not ... could not ... for he had tied her to him firmer than with just a simple vow; had bound her to his command as strongly as if he had married her and now she had no choice unless she wished to be truly forsworn and damned forever

__

... and the truth is that I am more frightened of that fate than of staying by his side. 

Hot tears slid down her face as she stood staring out into the bright, wet wood with her nails digging into her palms ... it would have been so easy to kill him - and he knew it - she realised he was not so much demonstrating his trust in her than testing her, seeing if the bond she spoke of so strongly, truly held her. She guessed he wasn't entirely defenceless, that he probably had a dagger somewhere beneath his robe but even so he should be mortally wounded before he could retaliate.

But she had simply obeyed him though she had held her blade to the major artery in his neck. One slip ... one tiny slip and he would be doomed. And yet her oath had held, it never truly occurred to her to strike though he lay vulnerable beneath her hands ... more silver tears slipped down her face, he had opened his eyes and gazed up at her, not speaking simply waiting, and staring back into that blue-green calm she had realised that she could not win this fight ... not now ... not yet ... her lip trembled again ... perhaps not ever.

She turned her back on the betraying moon and went inside the tent.

****

**************************** 

Deep in the night a soft noise awoke him from dreams of dusty sunlight, smells of lavender and thyme and of the evening breeze on his bare skin; slitting his eyes he saw Sil moving slowly across the tent towards him. Maximus closed his eyes again and struggled to keep his breathing soft and regular, quietly accepting her presence and whatever she or fate were about to throw at him next.

He sensed her bending over him, but not closely for no breath warmed his shoulder as with one finger she gently touched the tattoo that lay dark and exposed across his upper arm. Sleepily he realised she hadn't seen it before. Something warm fell with a soft pat onto his neck and then again on his shoulder and drifting back into sleep, he realised they were tears as in a soft voice drenched in sorrow she whispered his name.

Sil saw him sleeping, saw the mark upon his arm and touching it softly felt her eyes flood with pain _... Maximus ..._

"You are more a slave than I shall ever be"

****

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End file.
